SILENCE IS GOLDEN
Published in the Jan. 31, 2026 issue.
People started arriving at dusk.
They walked alone or in small groups as the sun slowly settled behind the Sierra and spilled its final glow on the Whites.
They were Sunday evening quiet.
The first cluster gathered at the southwest corner of Main and Line streets in Bishop. Dozens of small candles were on the ground at the base of a light pole. People picked them up, held them against the dark.
The candlelight vigil had begun.
More came. They positioned themselves on all four corners of the intersection. By about 5:30 p.m., the corners were crowded. People started stringing out on the sidewalks up and down Main Street. Holding the small candles offered by organizers. Holding larger candles they had brought. The line of handheld candles dotted the darkening streetscape with flickering light.
The last shard of sunlight faded and a cool chill fell over the roughly 300 people on the sidewalks.
They were quiet.
No speakers. No chants. No shouts at the stream of passing cars and trucks. In the gaps when the stoplights stopped traffic, headlights from four all directions fell on the people on the corners.
They were sentinels. Witnesses to a shared humanity. Expressing the complexity of rageful hope. Grieving. Unable to stay on the sidelines. Unwilling to cede the moral high ground.
Muted greetings. Hushed conversations. They had become a diverse, unified community after being together on the local streets for a string of recent demonstrations. Nods were exchanged. Small hugs. A few handshakes. Determined looks that said, “here we are again.”
There were fewer signs. But they were quietly screaming.
“Inhumane.
“Callous.
“Evil.”
“Shoot Me Next.”
“It’s No Longer A Difference Of Political Opinion. It’s A Difference In Morality.”
“Stand With Minnesota.”
The somber candlelight vigil mourned the shooting deaths of US citizens Alex Pretti, an ICU Nurse at a Minneapolis Veteran’s Administration Hospital, who was shot and killed by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents on Saturday, Jan. 24, and Renee Good, a Minneapolis mother, who was shot and killed by ICE agents on Jan. 7.
Life and death. Captured on phone-held video. Shown on computer screens, television, phones. Inescapable. Undeniable.
Sunday’s Jan. 25 evening event came together in one day. A quick idea translated into a poster spread by the digital web of local activists, bolstered by the network of nurses and healthcare professionals supporting, grieving nurse Pretti, one of their own. A caregiver.
By 6 p.m. it was dark, the little candles had burned down and out. Hundreds of people started walking back to their regular lives.
“See you next time?”
Endnote: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
